Twohundredseventy

By a route obscure and lonely,    Haunted by ill angels only, Where...


Twohundredthirtysix

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at...


Twohundredtwentyfour

The earth laughs, the sun laughs over every wise harvest of man, over man...


Twohundredtwentythree

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields, To wayward winter reckoning...